


Foreshadowing

by theprincessofdenial



Category: Terra Ignota - Ada Palmer
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cato Weeksbooth deserves better, Gen, I don't understand how English punctuation works and at this point I'm too afraid to ask, Oneshot, angsty af but hey what did you expect?, cw: attempted suicides, dear Professor Ada Palmer please don't hurt Cato anymore, no beta we die liek non-native speakers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:49:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29828655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprincessofdenial/pseuds/theprincessofdenial
Summary: Cato is going to be Utopian. Everybody knows it, the children they play with, the adults they talk to. It goes without saying – and this must the reason why nobody in the bash’ is saying it.
Kudos: 3





	Foreshadowing

Gordian Exposure Commission Content Ratings

V4 – Mentions of _intentional violence_ ; recent incidents of global _trauma_ ; _crimes of violence_ committed by real and living persons; _attempted suicides_ of real and living persons.

R3 – Explicit though brief treatment of _religious themes_ without intent to convert; _theological crises_ ; _religious beliefs_ of real and living persons.

O2 – Subject matter likely to cause _distress or offense_ to selected groups and to the sensibilities of many.

* * *

_I myself am not sure whether the ‘unwilling Frankenstein’ act was a plan, or an ad lib to cover Cato’s genuine stage terror._

— Mycroft Canner

At the tender age of four Cato Weeksbooth falls in love. Everybody notices it, the children they play with, the adults they talk to, though everyone must admit that Cato’s choice of the object of affection is a bit peculiar. The child looks at people with serious eyes and explains to them the inner workings of the kitchen tree, or describes Luna City in such a detail it’s hard to believe they’ve never been there. They want to know, see and understand _everything_. They read manuals and biographies, they jump from third-grade chemistry textbooks to dissertations on mitosis in altered gravity. They don’t understand all of it, but soon they will. The important thing for now is that there’s someone out there who does.

There’s nothing wrong with that. At a certain age every child with an ounce of imagination is captivated by the fantastic cloaks and the fairy-tale creatures. If anything about the child’s future can be determined at that point, it is only the case with kids who are _not_ interested in any of that (they’re most likely to become Masons or Graylaws later on). But Cato’s fascination is something different, they rehearse the oath going to sleep and waking up, and it’s disturbingly similar to those long-lost practices the ancients had before the Church Wars.

People would expect the quiet, serious child to write short stories or novels about fantastic planets or faeries and magic, but Cato’s not that interested in fantasy unless they believe they can turn it into reality. Cato knows science is just another form of poetry – a more beautiful, more precise one, so why would they settle for inferior forms of art? They don’t need fiction, they’re going to walk among the stars and be there when the future is born. Cato familiarizes themselves with the greatest works of fiction, of course – they would never find anything they encounter uninteresting, and it will be very important to know the canon of the saints when it comes to picking their own name.

It’s in bad taste to even speculate about one’s religion but little Cato wears theirs on their sleeve. Their devotion and awe is palpable, and yet somehow nobody finds it improper. They’re just a child, they don’t know any better. After all, they don’t worship any of the old gods in whose name our ancestors were murdering each other. Cato comes from a hereditary Humanist bash’, they’ve been raised in an environment in which living people are idolized on daily basis. It’s normal for little children to treat some things a little bit too seriously, and there’s nothing to worry about if sometimes they have so much love that it cannot be limited to a few celebrities and encompasses an entire Hive.

And there’s nothing wrong with wanting to join the personal gods, especially if the child is clearly predisposed to do so. Cato is going to be Utopian. Everybody knows it. It goes without saying – and this must the reason why nobody in the bash’ is saying it.

When Cato’s eleven, the suspicion appears for the first time. They’re a smart kid and for the first time in their live they don’t want to learn more about something. But with every passing day it gets more and more difficult to avoid the knowledge. By the time Cato’s twelve, the suspicion has formed into a pretty clear picture of what’s been happening in the bash’.

By the time they’re fourteen, Cato realizes with panic that if anyone learns that they know, they will not be allowed to leave. Nobody will agree to bringing in Utopian strangers either. It’s a Humanist bash’, always has been, and as far as Cato knows, Utopia is not among the powers that use O.S. The only way out is to pretend to be blind and deaf. And Cato will do that, they sure can manage it for another couple of years.

They’ll be out of here soon enough, they’re going to be Utopian and they’re sure that if they work hard enough, they will get to see Mars.

When Cato is fifteen, they’ve been told what they’ve already known, and now they can’t pretend anymore. They are still trying to reason with the ba’pas – the secret is safe with Cato, it doesn’t concern Utopia and there’s no reason for them to tattle. Besides, Cato doesn’t know that much. Oh, and they might stay in the bash’ as a sole Utopian, everything can remain the same. Utopia _allows_ mixed bash’es, it’s just not customary. Cato checked. Twice.

But the answer is still no, and so Cato Weeksbooth learns how to cry themselves to sleep after saying their evening prayer. That skill will prove very useful in the years to come.

Since Cato’s been an increasingly anxious teen, they are on a lot of meds and it’s not that difficult to skip some of the doses and collect the pills in a box under the bed. By March 2440 they have everything they need to be out of here. After the whole ordeal the entire bash’ uses words like “rescued.” "Saved,” even. Cato would never call it that.

Cato is still trying to get out of here, but now their family is much more cautious and they’re almost never left alone. Doctor Balin orders them to do something useful so they start volunteering at the Museum. It doesn’t change much in their situation, not objectively. It does feel a bit better, though.

Everyone at the Museum is nice, and Cato feels much more at home there than they’ve ever felt in the bash’. Cato can finally talk to people who speak the same language, and there are some glorious moments when they relax enough to lose their stutter. It feels like flying, jumping from topic to topic and not agreeing on anything concerning the future but still being _almost there_.

All of them are Utopian or they soon will be.

Two days after Cato’s received their first Humanist boots, they try again. The bash’ assumed that whatever they were going to do, they were going to do it _before_ joining the unwanted Hive, and Cato acted all proper this whole time, sniffling but resigned. As they tie the rope nobody deemed necessary to hide away, they feel like they ought to be at least a bit triumphant. There is no note with explanation – everyone in the bash’ will know the reason all too well.

Brought by the clatter of a falling chair, Thisbe finds their ba’sib after two minutes, undignified, half suffocated, and with pee running down their leg. Thisbe tries to stop themselves from laughing at the sorry sight. It’s kinda fascinating, how someone with such a scientific knowledge cannot perform a simple hanging properly.

How the rest of the family can live with themselves remains a mystery. Cato fails time after time. The bash’ stops reporting the attempts that can be dealt with without intervention of the medics (it’s too risky to bring attention to the episodes). The family learns how to wrap the bandages around the wrists tight enough and how to shove a toothbrush down Cato’s throat to provoke them to throw up whatever they’ve just ingested. The bash’mates are not bad people, not really, but after the seventh or eighth time the suicides of Cato Weeksbooth become something between an annoyance and a game the family doesn’t really enjoy playing.

And so Cato re-learns how to live with themselves time after time, only to find out again they are unable to. But with every suicide it’s like some part of them really dies, and it becomes easier to perform the tasks the bash’ requires of them. They grieve, they cannot bear it, and yet they come up with better and more efficient ways of killing anyone but themselves. The rest of the bash’ actually believes all of it is justified and serves the greater good. In their minds, they are saving thousands of lives at a really small price. They’re trying to make Cato see this but to no avail. Cato is trashing around like a fish out of water, desperate and one minute breaking both legs from jumping off the windowsill, the other still hoping for deliverance at the hands of their beloved Utopia.

Oh yes, after Cato had worked out the details of murdering their own ba’pas, they did need to be institutionalized for two months, and there was no way around it. Cato was in pieces that needed to be gathered by someone with actual knowledge on how to go about it. Everyone was a bit worried that their ba’sib would rat O.S. out. But not _too_ worried; Cato is fragile but not a traitor.

And so they keep providing O.S. with the tools. They grumble and cry, they protest weakly, they try to off themselves and everybody in the bash’ is ready to stop them. And then they help O.S., again and again. No, not “help” – they’re the mastermind behind every other hit. They know when another murder is coming long before they’re told, because the knives and chemicals suddenly disappear. Cato’s not allowed to leave the building so that they don’t drown themselves, and they don’t get to climb the stairs until the next victim has been neutralized. It’s a pattern, not a comfortable one, but a pattern nonetheless.

Cato’s boots are made of Griffincloth, and Cato actually believes it’s an act of defiance. Cardie finds it adorable but never makes a comment on it. It’s a small concession, really – Humanists tend to wear boots that are out of the ordinary, and it’s not like Griffincloth is strictly reserved for Utopia. Thisbe’s boots should raise much more suspicion. Nobody who doesn’t know what to look for will notice Cato’s conflicted loyalties, and even if they did, where would be the harm in that? Besides, Cato has already come up with a persona that precedes the Hives, and if anyone was going to wonder about their looks, the boots would be the least interesting part. At first Cato spends a great deal of time (at least by their standards, for others ten minutes is nothing) on their hair just to get the look right. It isn’t easy: at a certain length the hair is getting too heavy to just stand on its own. Cato uses so much product it’s difficult to tell whether the hair is messy or clean, and at some point they realize if they go to sleep like this, the hair will look even wilder in the morning. It’s a time-saver, and Cato looks as if they were an old-timey cartoon character who just got shocked with electricity. Which is funny, given that it is one of the ways they try to go before the bash’ intervenes.

By now Cato grew out of their awkward teens into an awkward adulthood, though the pills don’t allow the aging process to really manifest in anything besides the hunching. Cato goes from a curious if slightly nervous child to a neurotic teenager, and then turns into a terrified adult. Their complexion clears, but they also get paler and the dark circles around their eyes become permanent, just like the numerous stains on their fingers. Where the disproportionate limbs caused by the growth spurt should have rounded up into something more presentable, they remain grotesquely long and just get thinner, so that Cato looks like an overgrown spider. Most of the family just assumes Cato has stomach ulcers, given all the stress and all the poisons they’ve swallowed during their episodes. But no one has the time to look into the random stomachaches of their ba’sib – not when there are more pressing problems, like another cut artery.

Cato isn’t pretty but they’ve never really cared about that. When Thisbe is getting more beautiful and their numerous exes keep yelling in despair under their window, Ockham is making the moves on Lesley, the twins are fighting over their lovers, when Cardie is becoming the object of desire for half of the world, Cato never stops to wonder about their own sexuality for long enough to notice their absolute lack of interest in the subject.

But _they are in love_ , they have been since they’ve laid their eyes on the strangers with vizors for the first time. It’s just unrequited and there’s no point to it, is there.

They stop talking about Utopia, and the bash’ accepts that with relief. But Utopia is still there, its presence even more pronounced now, like the bits of the correspondence from the frontline that have been redacted by a third party, the blank spaces in places you would not notice or treat as important, had the words just been there. Cato does exactly that with all the newspaper cutouts and letters from their pupils, carefully covering up any trace of Utopia and pretending the Hive doesn’t exist. There are no more prayers, nor in the morning, nor in the evening, and now when Cato cries themselves to sleep, they try to avoid thinking about the reasons. Doctor Weeksbooth feels betrayed when they make Taylor Harrow into a Utopian in the movie but it’s just natural to the audience. In those rare instances when Cato is still honest with themselves, it’s natural to them as well.

The kids at the Museum used to ask the dreaded question about Cato’s nonsensical Hive affiliation, but they’ve stopped some years ago, as if the juniors started being immediately instructed to avoid the topic by their older peers. Nobody likes to see their teacher burst into tears, it’s embarrassing for both parties. Doctor Weeksbooth is kind and wise, but they’re also very fragile, and that much is obvious to anyone who has seen the scientist confront an adult. And there’s a lot of other questions to be asked: Doctor Weeksbooth, how do I stop this from blowing up? How do I _make_ this blow up? Why some of the stars burn brighter than the others? Is chameleon’s skin just like Griffincloth? Doctor Weeksbooth, what happens to the muscles in zero g? How do I change that? Doctor Weeksbooth, how can bees communicate such detailed things so precisely if they don’t understand how communication works? Doctor, could you help me with that? Doctor, I’ve burned my hand. Doctor Weeksbooth, I’ve added something to that vial and now my eyes won’t stop watering. Doctor, I need a letter of reference to get that scholarship. Doctor Weeksbooth, when I grow up I’m going to be just like you— _Doctor, are you alright?_ Have I said something wrong?

Cato doesn’t teach the kids at the Museum to be Utopians, not purposefully. Everyone can love science, they try to explain. But they’re too good and too passionate to make their pupils into Humanists or Mitsubishi, they imprint Utopia on every child they encounter. Some of them are successful in their further pursuits, some of them are just okay, but they’re all vocateurs and they all go to Utopia, every one of them. There’s nowhere else for them to go after being infected with Cato’s vision of the world.

And Cato just stays there, in their Hive, in their bash’, in their O.S., and nothing ever changes.

Utopia is a weird Hive. For all of the talk about the stellar future, for all of the effort they put into reaching it, there’s no agreement on what it’s going to be like, and every other coat presents a different vision of it. It’s not like there’s any pressing need to go to Mars, people are more than okay here on Earth, with their resources, peace, comfy chairs and plastic bags. There are scientists and artists in other Hives, some of them brilliant. There’s no hunger, no persecution to be escaped. Utopia is founded on amorphous discontent with how the things are, and it provides no coherent answer to the question of fixing it. Perhaps, just perhaps it’s not Cato’s enthusiasm for science but Cato’s inability to live and come to terms with this world that turns all of their students into Utopians.

Doctor Balin calls that one attempt a “theological crisis,” and Cato finds the diagnosis odd. But it’s not inaccurate – Balin, however misinformed, understands some things about their patient better than Cato themselves. The religion of Utopia is the conviction that there must be something better, and if Cato Weeksbooth’s religion is Utopia itself, what happens to them in 1450 couldn’t be described differently.

At some point Cato just realizes nothing will get better. It doesn’t happen gradually, there’s nothing to soften the blow. Cato never needed a Utopian vizor that would artificially enhance the imperfections of this world, but the thing is—the thing is they always saw the way to fix them. And then one day Cato realizes that they are watching an ant colony and thinking about the ways the mixture of toxins could be used to cause an anaphylactic shock. Such things had been there, in the back of their mind, ever since they’ve started working for O.S. – but they were afterthoughts. Cato tries to think of some harmless purpose for the ants in the terrarium and their mind goes blank. They think back with panic and they realize that it’s been happening for months, the afterthoughts must have somehow moved to the front, expanding so much there’s no place left for anything else, and now it’s too late to turn back. Cato has lost their ability to look at the world with wonder and come up with any idea how to make it better. But there are _hundreds_ of ideas on making it even worse.

And just like that, the small part of Cato that still entertained the idea of being a secret Utopian is gone.

Cato doesn’t really care for the history of dead religions. Oh yes, they are curious – as if there were anything in this world that Cato would consider uninteresting! – but there are so many other things competing for Cato’s attention, things that are _right there_. So Cato has never learned of the idea of prefiguration, and never looked into the ways dead people would bend over backwards to prove the events depicted in the older scriptures were just forecasts of the things that came in the more recent ones. Cato never became interested in narratology either. They must have heard of foreshadowing at some point, but they weren’t paying attention, not while so many real things were happening and half of them were blowing up in Cato's face.

Had Cato looked into that, perhaps they would find the whole Doctor Frankenstein show that Cardie forced on them meaningful instead of just plain terrifying. The makeup was itchy, the people were staring at them, the lights were blinding, Cato’s throat got too dry and they couldn’t remember the lines, they just really, _really_ wanted to go to the bathroom.

And so when the Junior Scientist Squad – oh, how they’ve grown up! – arrives to offer redemption to the mad scientist forced to do unspeakable things, Cato doesn’t remember that they’ve already seen it happen. Third of the world has seen it happen back then, watching the show because Sniper was in it, and not knowing it was just a rehearsal. This time _everyone_ will see the footage. There will be a war fought over it, Cato doesn’t know it at the time, but Utopia certainly does. Cato gets handed their Humanist boots and a knife, which is odd since nobody has trusted them with sharp objects for so long. A golden tablet follows, and for the first time in their live, Cato Weeksbooth knows their line by heart.


End file.
